


Failure

by Nymphaeus



Category: One Piece
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Character Study, Gen, Minor Violence, Mostly Canon Compliant, Panic Attacks, Pre-Dressrosa, Set During The Time-skip, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms, Unhealthy behaviour, Unimportant Background Characters - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-25
Updated: 2019-01-25
Packaged: 2019-10-16 02:13:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17540705
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nymphaeus/pseuds/Nymphaeus
Summary: After his crushing defeat at the Straw Hat's hand, the loss of his crew and his undignified return to the ranks of the Donquixote family, Bellamy is now a man trying to come to terms with who he is and who he wants to be in the future.A glimpse into one incredibly bad evening in the life of a man who has already lost everything.





	Failure

**Author's Note:**

> This work was started in 2014 and finished in 2019. (It was left untouched on my computer for a long time.)  
> Although I edited the beginning, there is still a noticeable rise in writing/language quality halfway through the story.  
> Here is my original comment from 2014, as I found it on the top of the document:
> 
> 'This is set somewhere in the two year time gap, shortly after Bellamy’s return from Skypia and his rejoining of the Donquixote family.  
> I hope it's not too out of character. Bellamy had quite the personality change during the time skip and I wanted to show a possibility of how he could have been, before he turned into the person he is in the new chapters. This story, although it's short, is kind of an emotional roller-coaster. So be warned.'
> 
> It always irked me, that I never actually finished it and now I finally did and feel somewhat accomplished.  
> This story is probably written for a niche portion of the Fandom, but I hope someone might enjoy it.

He was sitting in the dimly lit room. The only source of light were the few rays that entered his chamber through the gap under the door and the small candles that flickered weakly in one corner. He couldn’t even remember lighting them in the first place. It must have been him, though. No one else would have done it.

From further away voices could be heard. Like the faint flashes of dim light, they slipped into his room, through cracks and badly insulated stone walls. The voices were loud. But to his ears they sounded muffled and far away. The festivities were still in full swing, had been for hours, would be for hours. He detested hearing them. He just sought to drown them out.

Bellamy had lost track of the time he had been sitting there. At some point he had left the party. He had left early. He always did. He had slammed the door shut, breathing heavily, clutching an unopened bottle in his hand. Finding his way to his bed in the semi darkness hadn’t been hard. The room was too small. 

And he hadn’t gotten up since. It had become a habit. Leaving the others as quickly as possible, regretting having gone there at all. Sitting alone in his room. Sitting on his bed, drinking. Until he would eventually pass out.

Bellamy took another sip. He couldn’t help it. He knew he was running away. It was making things a little easier. Forgetting, even for a moment, was easier. The cruel flashes of lights became softer, the voices stopped fully reaching his ears. Until that blissful point where it all just vanished. 

Tonight he was still too far away from that pleasant state of oblivion. Everything still hurt. The voices of the others were still blasting and the lights were still mocking him. Their words were still tormenting him.

‘Hey, look, the loser’s back!’

‘That he even dares to show his face. It's disgusting.’

‘I'd say hilarious!’

'I wouldn’t have had mercy with that guy.'

‘Yeah, should be grateful, that weakling.’

The laughter was the worst part. Bellamy could pretend not to listen to the words. Pretend, not to overhear what people said behind his back. Pretend even, not to hear what was said directly to his face. Most of them weren’t tactful. And why should they be? They were pirates after all. Bellamy himself would have never held anything back. This was very much his own nature. He could relate. 

And there was another nagging thought: that they were right. Bellamy knew it was true. After all, he was a loser. This thought actually stung. It stung, because they were right. It stung because it was him, who thought the least of himself. It was painful and humiliating and there was nothing he could do about it. He was in no position to act.

So instead, Bellamy did exactly what befitted a complete failure like him -  
running from the noise and the lights and the voices, hiding away in his room, drinking until the pain calmed down to a dull throb somewhere in the back of his mind.

Today had been especially bad. It usually was whenever the family was having some sort of celebration. He could see the looks most of the family members gave him. They were wondering why he was allowed to be there. Why he was even bothering to take part. He certainly hadn't accomplished anything and people didn't enjoy his presence. Silently, he was asking himself the same questions. He was not considered part of the family anymore, not really. Sooner or later somebody would make a snarky comment about Bellamy. Who in return would just shrug it off with a smirk. Other than to hide his hurt, he didn’t smile that often anymore. 

Grimacing, Bellamy brought the bottle to his lips once more.

Sometimes he wondered why he even bothered with anything. No one else did. And he couldn’t help but to wordlessly agree. But he couldn’t let go either. Against all logic, there were still some faint sparks left in him. Bellamy could feel it, that which remained of his grand ambitions. Eventually, his time would come. He would make it. He could. Somehow. He had been promised a way back to the top. All he had to do was prove his worth. Even if nobody else believed he could make it.

Another gulp. The bottle was already emptying, way too fast and still not fast enough for his taste.

Bellamy had to be grateful. After all, he proven to be nothing but a disgrace to the family, to Doflamingo. And yet, he had been granted another chance. One final chance. Bellamy was very aware, that there wouldn't be another one, should he dare to disappoint again.

If he messed this up, he wouldn't get away as easily as last time. It would be the end of him. He couldn't fail Doflamingo again. The thought alone made him feel sick to his stomach. He worshipped the man. Always had, always would. And it was not too late for him to prove he was worthy of standing at his side. Bellamy would show that he had it within him to be an indispensable part of the family.

He was drinking hastily. He barely took notice and cared even less.

If he could fight through all of this, then he could make it. Not that he had a choice. It was frustrating and everything was too much. It was hard to admit, especially to himself, that he couldn't carry all that weight anymore. At least not for much longer. ‘That’s exactly why they call you weak.’ Bellamy thought bitterly. 'That's why you keep failing the man you have been idolizing your whole life.'

It wasn't quiet like him and maybe the alcohol was partly to blame, but he could feel the anger boiling up. Not that he felt a lot like his former self these days. Maybe there was only so little of that person left in him. The built up frustrations, the despair that came creeping in every day, it was too much to bear.

Who was he even kidding?

He had lost everything. First his pride, then his friends and companions and somewhere along the way, his dignity.

Bellamy's grip on the bottle tightened dangerously.

That person he had become, that wasn't him and it sure as hell wasn't who he wanted to be. That pathetic weakling, hiding away from everything, drowning reality out like a coward. How he hated that guy. He had tried to shove the blame away from himself, tried to shove it unto that Straw Hat who had defeated him so humiliatingly. The defeat that had lead to his downfall. 

Ah, regret, his single remaining companion. If only he hadn't underestimated the Straw Hat. If only he had been stronger. No, this was his own damn fault. His own arrogance had brought him that misery. If only he hadn't been so full of himself. He had been a fool and now he was a wreck. 

Before he even realized what he had done, the remains of the bottle were laying scattered across the room and the last drops of what had been his liquid comfort ran down the stone walls and onto the floor.

This was his truth and he couldn't run from it any longer. 

As quickly as it came, that rush of anger was gone again and it left him with nothing but the throbbing behind his forehead and an occasional wet dripping noise from the other side of the room.

Of course that had not been the first time he had lost his calm. Hell, he wished back to the days he still had something like a calm demeanour to lose. He brought a hand to his head to rub his temples, hoping it would at least make the growing headache go away. It didn't. So he stopped the motion. 

At least breathing felt a bit easier now and he let out a sigh he hadn't been fully aware of holding in. At the same time he felt incredibly stupid. Even in regards to the past few months, tonight was an especially bad night.

Damn, if he wanted to make it to the next morning while at the same time keeping his mind and walls mostly intact, he definitely needed another drink.

Bellamy saw only two option here, the first being to keep on sulking in his room without another bottle of alcohol to keep him company. However, the pain in his head and the persistent feelings of frustration and sorrow were all the indication he needed to realize that this wasn't truly an option at all.

That left the second one, which came down to leaving the privacy of his room and face all the things he had been trying to push away all evening. With a hint of bitterness he had do admit, that this hadn't been working too well in the first place.

Carefully testing if his legs would carry him, he lifted himself off the bed for the first time in what felt like hours. Even though he clearly felt some of the effects the alcohol had on his body, he found that he had no trouble standing. Bellamy was feeling light-headed, but that could be ignored easily enough and was most likely caused by his inner turmoil combined with that annoying headache. Bellamy could hold his liquor. He had built up quiet the tolerance, it just didn't mix well with emotional outbursts. 

Walking was working exceptionally well, too. And so, albeit reluctantly, Bellamy made his way to the door while only barely avoiding to step into any pieces of broken bottle that were scattered across his bedroom floor. The current state of his room remained another fact that he pushed away into a dark corner of his mind. There were more important things for Bellamy to worry about. 

One of the pieces came too close to his boot and he gave it a kick, it made a rather unsatisfying clanking sound as it collided with the wall.

Bellamy had his hand on the door handle way faster then his drunken mind had anticipated. Why was he hesitating? The second he touched it, a thought had wormed its way back to the surface and into his consciousness. Getting more booze meant, he actually had to go back. Back to all the others who were still celebrating. If he opened the door now, there would be the corridor lights. And there would be the sounds of the party. Everything would come flooding down on him. There would be nothing much to separate him from the others. First, there would be empty hallways. And then there would be everyone. 

He felt drawn back to his bed. It was ridiculous. He was crying over being a coward and being weak one minute and immediately proving it right in the next. Perfect.

This was not the time to hesitate. So Bellamy pulled the handle down with just a little too much force, just if he was expecting it to offer resistance. Unsurprisingly it didn't. He hadn't locked the door when he went to his room earlier.

And there it was. As soon as he opened the door, light entered the room and from somewhere further away laughter and bits and pieces of conversations that he couldn't make out echoed through the deserted hallways. What did come as a surprise was the lack of a no new wave of tension. There was no further anxiety hitting him. Only his eyes protested at the sudden brightness that constituted such a big contrast to the darkness before. 

Bellamy's headache seemed to be on the same page as his eyes and so he blinked a few times to clear his head and adapt to the lighting conditions in the corridors. True enough, they weren't all that intensely lit, but in his semi drunken state and with his high strung mind they surely felt like they were.  
After he had given his eyes enough time to regain focus, Bellamy stepped outside of his room and into the hallway. Behind him the door closed not so silently with a deep wooden noise and creaking hinges. It took him less than a second to decide, that this officially marked the point where it would be downright embarrassing to flee back into his room. And so Bellamy made his way down the familiar halls to get himself another bottle of much needed liquor.  
In Bellamy's head this endeavour sounded simple enough. He would just walk right up to the bar, demand another bottle, ignore everyone that dared to look at, let alone talk to, him and be back in his room in no time to keep on sulking. Yes, he knew he was behaving immaturely. But he was angry and frustrated and disappointed in himself. And drunk. He was also drunk. And talented in making excuses. And he would do anything it took to get his peace tonight. Because right now all he wanted was the momentary bliss of alcohol induced oblivion. Somehow while he was walking, his anger and fear had turned into a very twisted form of defiance.  
Defiance was good, though. Defiance was something that came after everything else was lost, when things like dignity and pride were long since forgotten. The one thing that kept a man moving. For the moment it served its purpose.  
Even if somebody would have had no idea of the building's layout, it was impossible to miss the big hall where the Donquixote family had gathered for tonight. All one had to do, was follow the sounds as they grew louder. It were the exact same sounds that Bellamy could barely stand at the moment. But he made it to the hall without hesitating a second time. And when Bellamy finally entered the giant room that was filled with people genuinely having fun, he forced his trade-mark grin onto his face.  
The room was filled with tables that people sat at, stood on or, due to the advanced time, in some cases even lay under.

But the party was still going strong. Very obviously so. People were laughing and talking and drinking and the stench of partying pirates hit right away. Booze, sweat and from somewhere something smelled vaguely burnt. 

There had been a time when an entire room would go quiet if he so much as took the first step into it. People had shivered in fear, not daring to speak in his presence. Some people too afraid to even move. Some too full of admiration. That had been before the fall, of course. Before his utter defeat at that awful Straw Hat's hands. Before he had come cowering back to the family, begging for a second chance.

Now he entered a room and he prayed no one would notice his arrival. That had become the preferable option. Maybe someone would notice him these days, but they would soon dismiss him with a derogatory look that never lasted long. Just long enough to let him know that he was garbage in their eyes. He hated that. It made his gut feel heavy and his blood run cold and a second later boiling hot with rage. Of course these days, he had to keep his anger locked up most of the time. No more beating up guys for looking at him the wrong way. He was the inferior one here. For now.

Bellamy had for the most part learned to deal with this. It was worse, when people actually did acknowledge his presence. And since he appeared to have improbably bad luck tonight, that was exactly what happened. 

He had only taken a few steps into the room, when he heard a voice to his left: “Look, who has decided to join us again!” It was a voice he didn't even recognise, and one that was definitely too boisterous and obnoxious for Bellamy's headache plagued brain. It was some guy who was almost definitely as intoxicated as he was. Probably even more so. He turned his head in the direction the voice had come from. The guy was brutish looking and rather ugly, which came to no surprise, since most of the family's goons were. Bellamy couldn't even vaguely recall having seen this particular specimen before. What was that guy's name? Which associate did he work under? He was a nobody. 'Just like you are now,' that voice in his head reminded him. 

It was laughable. And indeed, he couldn't suppress the chuckle that subsequently rose in his chest. Well, they didn't call him hyena for nothing.

He hated playing stupid. He hated playing ignorant. There was nothing else Bellamy could do, but laugh through it all. His stride oozed false confidence as his steps took him further into the room. He was marching straight towards the giant bar area in the hall, as quickly as he could without appearing rushed, without having his apprehension become obvious. His smile was solid as stone, his mouth felt so strained, it ached. 

Sadly the nameless brute didn't seem to like being ignored. Because Bellamy could hear the guy yelling after him about precisely that. Yes, he had learnt to drown out the exact words. He couldn't drown out the act, nor the message. And he absolutely couldn't drown out the bottle that hit the side of his head. Bellamy was truly having the worst night. 

For a split second he thought his head might explode and there was a blinding white light obscuring his vision. Yet, he didn't turn around. He didn't even stop walking. After turning to black entirely for a split second, his sight returned quickly, but the world remained clouded in some sort of foggy haze. He could make it to the bar. There was some more yelling, but no second impact as he had at first feared. Apparently nobody else seemed to have taken an interest in the situation, people just continued partying as before. Good.

Was he bleeding? He had made it so far already. Bellamy was sure his skin had split. 'Keep your eyes on your goal, keep your head high and keep that grin on your face,' a voice from the back of his mind screamed at him. A loud ringing had started in his ears and his thoughts barely reached his consciousness. There seemed to be indeed something warm and liquid running along his skin, nearly trickling into his eye. He hadn't lost his grin. He assumed he looked like an absolute maniac. He counted both of these facts as a victory. God, his head hurt.

Bellamy was vaguely aware that he staggered. His head was pounding, the world was spinning and he felt ready to vomit. It didn't matter. He had a goal and he was approaching it quickly enough. When he reached the bar, he braced himself on the counter. Partly to keep his body from collapsing right here and there, partly to get the bar keeper's attention.

Through his haze he registered that his speech was slurred when he brusquely demanded another bottle of his liquor of choice. These days that corresponded with 'the cheapest stuff that also gets the job done the quickest'. The bar keeper side-eyed him. Bellamy was aware that he was being judged. Nothing new here. A bit of his bad temper and old self shined through when he dared to tell the older guy behind the counter to please hurry up. He didn't say 'please'. Bellamy couldn't help it, he just wanted to get out. Preferably right this instance. And sure enough, a bottle was placed before him and he quickly grabbed it in a single motion that was obviously badly coordinated. 

Turning around was bad for his balance, but Bellamy managed. The tight grip on the bottle served as an anchor to reality. He had gotten what he came for. He just had to make it back. He crossed the room faster than he had done when coming in. At least on the way back, he didn't get bothered. He did get looked at. It were the very same dismissive stares he endured on a daily basis. The ones that lasted barely a fraction of a second, but let you feel all of the judgement. Maybe nobody else tried to rile him up, because the first attempt hadn't gotten a reaction out of him. Maybe they decided he was not only useless, but boring as well. Maybe it was because, in this moment - grinning and bloody and transfixed on the exit - he must have looked absolutely insane. Maybe people just weren't interested in harassing him anymore. 

The relief he felt when he had stepped back into the hallway was overwhelming. His free hand almost instinctively found its way to the hard stonewall for support. Support, which he badly needed for the way back to his room. Focusing became increasingly harder and walking was a chore. The walls were cold to the touch and the stone felt irritatingly coarse under his fingers. But every step he took, brought him closer to his chambers, closer to his safe haven. When he finally reached the door he opened it with so much force, he very nearly ripped it out of its angles. 

Bellamy took no time stepping inside. Once more, the door fell shut behind him, creating the welcome barrier to the outside world. He leaned against it and immediately the grin vanished from his face as if it had been snuffed out together with the candles that no longer burned where he had left them earlier. He had made it. It was dark again. And it was quiet, except for the banging of his own heart in his head. His free hand brushed against his temple. It came back wet, affirming his suspicions. Bellamy took a few deep breaths. They sounded shaky. All of him felt shaky, he noticed. His adrenaline was dropping rapidly. Blurry spots were dancing before his eyes, partly obstructing his vision.

After a second of just leaning against the door, he took an unsteady step towards his bed. And then another. Just walking suddenly became a tedious task. His headache was killing him. He felt sick. And he had to admit that his consciousness was fading. Fuck. It were just a few steps to his bed. And they felt like a mile. Neither the way through the hall, nor the way through the corridors had felt as long as these last few steps. Halfway through the room, Bellamy went down on his knees. At least here were no witnesses to see him like this, as his lowest, most vulnerable, most pathetic self. Everything was spinning. 

The sudden change in position proved to be too much for his stomach to handle. Bellamy was heaving onto the floor before he even registered what was happening. He braced himself on his arms until his breathing had partially normalized again, trying hard not to think about what a pitiful sight he was right now. His throat stung and he felt disgusting. And he was still dizzy, very much so. 

His vision swam, he could hardly muster enough strength to get back on his feet. Eventually, he was able to take the last unstable steps towards his bed and Bellamy collapsed against it instantly. He cursed under his breath as he hit the mattress. All he had wanted was another drink. Now he felt too sick to continue drinking. How pathetic. How laughable. And he did laugh. Bellamy laughed until he cried. And he kept crying until he passed out.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading the very first Fanfiction, that I actually managed to finish and put online!
> 
> If you enjoyed my work, please feel free to leave kudos, or comments.  
> If you didn't enjoy my work, please also feel free to leave kudos, or comments.  
> Feedback of all kinds is very much appreciated.
> 
> Thanks again and goodbye!


End file.
